Clara herself didn't try to touch or change Lorena's grief--it was like Martin's fever: either it would kill her or it wouldn't. He ain't got no horse and maybe he's crippled. Of course, it was her fault for picking July. Have a taste, July, she said.
He wanted to spare his horse as much as possible. Lorena began to wish there was some way just to die. He shook his head. I'm going, he said.
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